


Lost

by DecemberIceStar



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forced Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberIceStar/pseuds/DecemberIceStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s not her, not anymore. The scars on her arms from the mistakes she made while hunting were cherished, a reminder of her father. The thin pale line that used to cross her cheekbone is gone; it made her remember a time where Gale was her friend. They weren’t blemishes, like the Capitol people liked to call them; no, they were memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

**Lost**

* * *

Katniss closes her eyes as the tattooed man moves above her.

She makes the appropriate noises at the appropriate times and pretends she comes just to get his grubby fat fingers out of her. He disgusts her. His fat belly rubs against her flat stomach and the District 12 Victor has to swallow back the vomit that threatens to come out of her mouth.

Eyes closed, she tries to remember his name, unsurprised when she can't. It doesn't really matter after all. He means nothing but more time for her sister and her mother and Gale and Hazelle and Posy… so many people. So she closes her eyes and smiles at the Capitol man after he rolls off her. He smiles back, his bright red teeth showing.

She imagines that they didn’t lose. That the Rebellion wasn’t crushed before it even started when they killed Peeta. She imagines that instead of bland, purple skin, there’s pale, strong arms surrounding her. She imagines that her whole District doesn't whisper behind her back. They don’t know that every day they live means another two weeks on the Capitol, fucking men and women that have enough money to afford a Victor.

Finally, he falls asleep and Katniss rushes to get her skimpy red mini dress back on. Slipping her feet on the ridiculously high stilettos, she swallows the drug that will keep her going for the next two clients she has that night, along with the one that will stop her from falling asleep. Her head held high, she walks out of his mansion and slips into the car already waiting for her outside. 

* * *

 

Her apartment feels cold, like her house in the Victor’s Village felt. She tears the dress off and opens the shower, letting the water wash away the glitter, makeup, sweat and the feeling of a thousand hands running through her skin. A pair of sweats and an old shirt she brought back from her home district works as her sleepwear. She curls under the covers and feels disgusted that she can have satin sheets while the kids die of hunger on the street of her district. Shaking her head, the thought is smothered; it's too dangerous to dwell on that which will never be. Her jaw sets and she hates the Capitol. She hates it for making her do this. She hates it for taking _him_ away. She hates it for making her dread her return to the District because she knows what awaits her there.

She will get there and Prim will hug her and cry and ask her to promise never to leave again. Katniss won’t answer; she’ll just hold her a little tighter. Her mother will smile coldly and lock herself on the room until the next morning.

Her bow will be waiting on the forest for her and it’ll take down squirrels and birds. The game will be taken to Hazelle’s table as soon as Gale leaves for the mines. Her rough hands will touch hers and just for a second, Katniss won’t feel alone. She’ll leave quickly and avoid her former friend for the rest of her visit; she doesn’t want to feel his glare on her shoulders.

Bottles will be lying on Hatmich’s floor and he’ll be drunk on his porch, just where she left him. His gray eyes, so similar to hers, will look at her and then close in pain before taking a swig of his bottle. Dirty blond hair will flutter when he shakes his head and goes back inside.

It will be uncomfortable and awkward but she’ll visit the Mellark Bakery and buy the cheese rolls he used to make for her. They don’t taste the same but she won’t get any better. His father will look at her through watery eyes and hand her the bag. He knows why she always goes to buy them, even when his wife always ends up throwing something at her. She’ll duck and make her way back to the Victor’s Village, ignoring the whispers that’ll undoubtedly follow her along the way.

Her nightmares will be even worse, with his house across hers. She still considers it his even if the Capitol cleared all of his things from them. She managed to save a couple of things: his favorite roll pin, a couple of well-worn shirts, his paintings and the stacks of hand-written books with his family’s recipes. Mr. Mellark knows she has them but he knows as well, she won’t be divulging any of his bread’s secrets; she just want to have something that was once his. She won’t sleep much; instead she’ll sit on her room, put one of his shirts on and surround herself with the books, many with added recipes in his neat, straight handwriting. Then she’ll cry; she will ask for forgiveness.

Then she’ll be called back to the Capitol and a new kind of torture will start.

She still has a couple of days left at the Capitol, but no more clients. She’s thankful that Cinna has stopped anyone from turning her into another Capitol freak. Her hair is the same, her eyes are the same, her small breasts are still small and there is most definitely no ink on her skin. But she’s not her, not anymore. The scars on her arms from the mistakes she made while hunting were cherished, a reminder of her father. The thin pale line that used to cross her cheekbone is gone; it made her remember a time where Gale was her friend. They weren’t blemishes, like the Capitol people liked to call them; no, they were memories.

It makes it more difficult to remember better times. It’s a constant battle between forgetting and remembering.

She closes her eyes tighter and grasps the comforter like a lifeline.

She lost and there’s nothing more to it.  


End file.
